Snowdrift

"Debra ""DJ"" Erfert, a winner of a 2017 Kindle Scout campaign, has authored five published novels, three novellas, and one Kindle World’s novella, and several short stories. She writes what her alter-ego dictates. Maybe it’s her super-ego. In her Window of Time series, Lucy is fearless and strong and has a secret power—all qualities Debra envies. In real life, spiders terrify her, which is why they appear on a regular basis in her books. “Confront your fears, and have your characters squish them!” 

Debra uses the pen name DJ Erfert for her paranormal suspense/thriller books, and Debra Erfert for her romantic suspense/mystery books. She is an award-winning fine artist who lives in a southwest desert city in Arizona with her husband, Mike, a retired police lieutenant, where the average summer temperatures are well above 100 degrees—truly hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. After raising two Eagle Scouts, she now spends her time writing and shooing her polydactyl cats away from her keyboard."

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Artist Abigail Carson crashes off the deserted highway during a Wyoming blizzard while driving to reach her dying mother. Carbon County Sheriff Jackson Reynolds rescues her, leaving her Jeep in the snowdrift as the storm becomes a whiteout. They’re trapped at his ranch for the week leading up to Christmas, along with his two young daughters, a protective mother-in-law, and a bitter memory of his dead wife. 

Tensions rise as Abby’s attraction grows for the tough sheriff. She must crack through his emotional wall before the storm breaks or lose her only chance for real love. But if the storm doesn't stop soon enough, Abby may lose her opportunity to ask her mother's forgiveness for running away almost ten years before.

Snowdrift is a story about love, faith, and forgiveness."

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Snippet: 

“Where is the road, Daddy?”

Abby pulled the blanket up higher around Kathy’s shoulders. She had her sitting on her lap and they sat next to Jack in the front seat of the sleigh.

“I watch for landmarks, sweetheart.” Jack pointed with his left hand, still with the reins intertwined in his fingers. “See those trees lined up in a row?”

“Uh-huh.” Kathy nodded her knit cap-covered head.

“Do you remember those are apple trees and they grow just off the side of the road?”

“Yes,” Beth said from the seat behind them. “I remember, Daddy! We stop there, and you pick apples without Mrs. Nesbit knowing about it.”

Abby grinned over at Jack and waited for him to deny his thievery
.

“Mrs. Albenia Nesbit will be eighty-five-years old this coming New Year’s Day.” Jack glanced at Abby. “Beanie’s been widowed for six years now. For the first two of those years she let her apples rot in the orchard.”

“But why?” Abby quickly asked.

Jack continued. “I found out later, when I did a welfare check on her, that she didn’t have the money to hire any hands to pick her fruit, and she wasn’t physically able to do any of the picking herself.”

“Why didn’t she ask her neighbors for help?” Grace asked.

“Good question,” Abby said, holding Kathy closer.

“I asked her that, since I was her closest neighbor. I watched her face blossom pink, but she said that she couldn’t ask. She didn’t think she deserved any help, since she never helped anyone else.”

“Oh,” Abby said softly. “And this justifies you stealing her apples?”

Jack grinned. “Let me finish, please.” He snapped the reins once. “Get up there!” He captured Abby’s glare. “Southern Wyoming isn’t conducive to growing apples in the first place, but her orchard took hold and she gets a fairly good yield. To this day, Beanie doesn’t know who harvests her small orchard every year, leaving over a hundred bushels of the most beautiful apples in her front yard, and also for the tax deduction she gets for the additional hundred bushels she donates to the Rawlins homeless mission.”

Abby couldn’t keep the tears from blurring her vision. Listening to Jack’s story was more romantic than watching a chick-flick. “You?”

“Not just me, but three other ranchers in the area meet together for a week while our wives keep her busy and away from her windows.” Jack laughed. “She still has no idea who her fairy god-harvesters are.”

“You’re a good man, Jack Reynolds,” Abby said quietly.

“And probably quite selfish.”

“Huh?”

“Beanie had all those apples at once, so she began to cook. If you’ve notice in our pantry, we have shelves of home canned apple butter.”

“Yes.”

“Beanie supplies the whole area with her homemade apple butter, but she also makes the most delicious pies, which she calls upon me to help her deliver to her neighbors.” Jack nodded. “In these past four years she’s done more community service than in all the years before her husband passed away, including getting involved with the mission serving dinners at holidays.”

Abby breathed heavily, watching her breath escape in a burst of mist from between her lips. Laying her cheek gently against Kathy’s head, she gazed at the landscape passing by, thinking about the love it took to do secret good works for a neighbor without expecting anything in return. The canned apple butter was incidental. Abby had a feeling he’d do it without the promise of anything in return. After all that was how it had started.

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